


loopholes catching light

by intimatopia



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Blow Jobs, Body Image, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Intercrural Sex, Light Dom/sub, a surprising amount of relationship development, for a porn fic anyway, service top akira, tldr akira is horny for akechi's soft plump thighs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:54:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27043072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intimatopia/pseuds/intimatopia
Summary: If it hadn’t been for those coffee grounds, it would never have gone anywhere. But the coffee grounds happened, which meant—
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira
Comments: 13
Kudos: 146





	loopholes catching light

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so there's [this art of fem akechi](https://twitter.com/waffletop_/status/1316345991486824449?s=19) in which her thighs look just a little bit plump and it drove me nuts for over 24 hours during which i wrote this fic, don't look at me. there's also [this video of akira talking](https://twitter.com/daiIyakira/status/1316783393422667784?s=20)?? shoutout to his sexy sexy voice for fueling this fic too. 
> 
> title from time to give by white lies

Akira was trying to pay attention to what Akechi was saying—today the topic of her rambling was something about relative prosecution success rates in countries with high police presence, with a few other factors thrown in. Akechi was animated and intelligent, and he liked hearing her talk.

He interrupted her about halfway through anyway. “Want a refill?” he asked kindly. “Your throat must be dry.”

She went red. “Sorry, I’ve just been going on and on—I came here to ask for your opinion, but I didn’t even let you speak.”

“It’s alright,” he said sincerely. “Pass me your mug?”

She smiled ruefully up at him and reached for the mug, misjudging the distance and knocking it over. Akira lunged for it, grabbing it before it could roll off the counter, but he couldn’t prevent the grounds at the bottom from falling onto Akechi’s knee.

“Fuck,” she hissed. “Fuck, my _stockings._ ”

Oh right, her stockings. He’d never seen her without them, though most girls her age (and younger) went without. The grounds were a sad mess splattering them, rapidly spreading murky brown through the thin cloth. Akira swallowed. “There’s—my room’s upstairs, if you want to go change.”

“I don’t have a spare,” Akechi replied, sounding upset. She hopped off the stool though. “Do you have tissues?”

He ran one end of a cloth napkin under the tap and held it out to her, saying, “You can’t go home like that, can you?”

She slumped. “I guess not.” He waved the napkin insistently, and she took it. “Upstairs, right?”

He nodded, watching her pass through the door and then the quiet muffled sound of her feet on the stairs. Cleaned up the mess on the ground as best as he could, and made another pitcher of coffee for when she returned.

It took several minutes, longer than it should have. Akira looked up from his phone when the door opened—and blinked in shock.

Akechi had taken both stockings off. Without them, the short skirt revealed her soft, pale thighs, plumper than he’d known to expect.

He dragged his eyes quickly back up to her face. “Everything okay?”

“Um,” Akechi started, shifting on the threshold. “I think I’d better—better go home. Sorry.”

Akira nodded. He couldn’t seem to think straight. “Want me to drop you to the station?”

Akechi shook her head quickly. “I’ll be fine, thank you.” But she sounded flustered and nervous, glancing around as she picked up her briefcase from next to the stool like she thought someone might be looking at her.

Which, Akira _was_ looking at her. He couldn’t seem to _stop_ looking at her.

But he smiled kindly and encouragingly at her when she straightened up. “Get home safe,” he said distantly. “Sorry about your—stockings.”

“Not your fault,” she said quickly. “If only I wasn’t so fucking _clumsy_ ,right?”

He stared at her, unable to formulate a response, and then held up a finger. “Wait.” She gave him an impatient look as he trotted backwards into the pantry, rifling through the shelves for what he wanted.

Akira filled the coffee he’d made into the thermos, screwed the cap on tightly, and headed around the counter to hand it to her. “I really am sorry about your stockings,” he said stupidly.

“Thank you for the coffee,” she said, caught off-guard, and fled.

He watched her head out, still standing dumbly. There was something soft and white in his mind. It looked a lot like pancakes, or Akechi’s thighs.

“Is she gone?” Sojiro asked, when he came back. “What’re you looking at?”

“Nothing,” Akira said, jerked out of his daze. “Nothing.”

He hurried back behind the counter and began to put the supplies away.

There was, Akira determined, a problem. Or the opposite of a problem. He caught sight of Akechi on TV a few days later, legs crossed at the ankle and knees tilted to one side. She was wearing stockings, and laughing at something someone in the audience had said. He barely heard what she said. He couldn’t stop thinking about how neatly the stockings covered her legs, making them look slim and firm instead of—soft and almost jiggly. _Cute._ He wanted that Akechi back, and at the same time he wanted no one else to see her like that.

He didn’t know what he wanted.

The next time he met Akechi in person was at the jazz club. She’d invited him there, talking about a singer she liked and how it was always nice to appreciate music with friends.

 _Are we friends?_ Akira asked himself, after she’d cut the call.

He almost didn’t want to answer the question, even to himself. He knew she didn’t have friends at all, that she must’ve been awfully lonely to latch onto him like she had. She was eager and clever and clumsy and she never seemed to know when he was flirting with her, and he didn’t want to break her heart by wanting more than she did.

But the fact was that Akira _did_ want more than she did. He wanted so much more. And he had no way of figuring out whether she was okay with that, and if so _how_ okay.

_Can I eat you out over the counter as friends?_

The music floating through the speakers at the club was pretty good—Akira wasn’t paying as much attention to it as he was to Akechi, who had found herself a milkshake and was sucking it through a straw.

He responded to her on autopilot, letting his eyes drift around the room once in a while so he didn’t stare too much. He wasn’t thinking about the music.

“I might have to leave early,” Akechi told him about half an hour later. “Sorry—work came up.”

Akira nodded and stood up, grabbing her jacket from the table. “I’ll walk you to the station,” he said firmly, not leaving room for her to argue.

It wasn’t that odd—he walked around with most of his friends. Akechi stared up at him like he was some strange creature before snatching her jacket from his hands. He grinned at her and let it go, carefully settling a hand on her back to keep her ahead of him as they exited the club. She was tense under his palm.

“The music was great,” Akira said, as they crossed the street. “I wouldn’t have found it by myself, though.”

“I follow their Twitter,” Akechi replied absently. “They post updates on there and everything.”

Akira shook his head. “I don’t have Twitter.”

“Lucky you,” Akechi said fervently. “I have to have it because I’m a celebrity, but it’s such a waste of time. I’d rather read, or work.”

It should’ve sounded canned, but Akira suspected Akechi really was that kind of person. “It’s good to cut loose once in a while,” he suggested. He’d never taken his hand off her back, he noticed suddenly, and let it drop back to his side. 

She glanced at him. “That’s what you’re for.”

“Cutting loose?” he asked, smiling. “Do you find my company very _relaxing_?

Akechi blushed and looked away. “I just don’t do this very often,” she confessed. “Going out with people. I’ve never had the time.”

He hummed, waiting for her to go on.

“I probably shouldn’t waste too much of your time, though,” she finished. “I know my interests aren’t what most teenagers find amusing.”

“The jazz club’s great,” Akira protested. “And you’re a better opponent at billiards than Ryuji.”

“Of course I am, my aim is perfect,” Akechi snapped, and then laughed. “Well, I’m glad you’re not bored.”

“I’m not,” Akira said, stopping. “I’m really not bored, Akechi.”

She stopped too, turning to face him. They were almost at the station, but the street they were on was mostly empty. Akechi looked neat and perfect, hair barely tousled by their walk. “Is there something you want?” she asked uncertainly, licking her lips.

God, how long could he resist this? He didn’t _want_ to, and there was something in her eyes that made him think she wouldn’t mind either. He could live with being wrong. He couldn’t live with not trying.

So Akira kissed her.

She was smaller than him, though not by much—taller than most girls. And he couldn’t resist any longer. He’d take the rejection if she didn’t want him, but he suspected she did. And her mouth was soft and tasted like chocolate milkshake, and she kissed back the second she caught onto what he was doing. But Akira kept the kiss light despite the urge to deepen it, to drag her into a backstreet so he could find out just how hard she liked it— or how gentle.

He let her go a few seconds later, settling his hands on her waist. “Is this alright?” he asked her.

Akechi laughed, hysterical, and leaned against him. Her hair smelled nice, nothing he could identify. “It’s not _bad_ , I guess,” she said.

“Not bad, huh,” he said idly. He wrapped an arm around her back and raised the other to cup her face, tilting it up to make her meet his eyes. Her eyes were wide, red and curious. “Want another?”

“If you’re offering,” she said slyly.

He didn’t reply, slanting his mouth down on hers again. She fit perfectly in his arms, squirming against him when he went too fast and relaxing when he slowed down, starving for touch and almost sweeter for it. 

Akira was pretty sure he’d never felt so _hungry_ for someone before, so desperate to have them unravel for him. But he wanted to take her apart and see what was making her tick.

He could enjoy this for now, though, the soft tickle of her hair against the backs of his fingers and the delicious little sounds she made when he bit at her mouth, the swell of her breasts where he held her flush against him.

“Sorry,” he said, a long time later. He pulled away and then gave up, resting his cheek against the top of her head. “You’ve got work to get to, right?”

“Work,” Akechi said breathlessly. “ _Work,_ yes, fuck. I’m going to be _late_.”

She pushed him away, trembling slightly, and then glared at him for good measure. “You’re a menace,” she informed him. “A terrible menace.”

He grinned at her. “Have a nice night, Akechi-san.”

She walked off without a reply, and he stared shamelessly at her thighs. It wasn’t the same with stockings, but they were still cute. Where Ann’s legs were long and model-like, Akechi’s were...also long, but thicker. Akira found it incredibly charming.

He walked back home still buzzing on the kisses, glad of the cold night air because it cleared his head somewhat.

Not by much; Akechi called him as he was stepping into Leblanc. “Thanks for coming to the club with me today,” she started. “I probably could’ve stayed longer, as it turns out. I have work to do but I can’t seem to focus.”

“I wonder why,” he said dryly.

“You sound very smug,” Akechi said, sounding annoyed. “Knock it off, it isn’t cute.”

“I think it is,” Akira said, even more smugly. “ _You_ think it is.”

There was a shuffling sound, and then a low _thump_. “I don’t have to answer that.”

“It wasn’t a question,” Akira replied. “Sleep well, Akechi-san.”

He jerked off that night, intending to take it slow but coming too fast and too hard at the remembrance of how she’d felt against him, pliant and prickly at once. Wondered what Akechi would have to say about him getting off to the memory of her, whether she’d blush or look right back at him with a challenge glowing in her eyes.

Akechi was busy for the next couple weeks. Though she found time to text him articles to ask for his opinion, she didn’t bring up the kissing, and he let it slide too. He didn’t know how hard he could push her before she got too defensive.

But Akira could still flirt lightly over text. He ended up calling her late one night when neither of them could sleep, listening to her methodically take apart both sides in a debate she’d been watching. He didn’t ask why she was watching the debate, letting the sound of her voice wash over him.

“...I’ve just been talking for _hours,_ I don’t know why you keep letting me,” Akechi was saying.

“I like listening to you,” Akira answered easily.

Akechi laughed, a brittle sound. “I’m obsessive and boring,” she said wearily. “You’ll stop pretending otherwise, someday.”

It was surprisingly vulnerable. He knew she didn’t like herself, but there was something unnervingly bitter about her tone, the conviction in it. “I wouldn’t have kissed you if I didn’t like you before that,” Akira said gently.

“Oh, _please,_ ” Akechi snapped. “You kissed me because I’m a friendless loser, and everyone can tell, and you probably just felt sorry for me.”

Akechi’s brain worked fast. It wouldn’t have taken her more than a week to come to a conclusion about Akira’s motives, and then shore up arguments in favor of her interpretation. It was almost impressive, but it made him angry. “I could never feel sorry for you,” he told her, crisp with annoyance. “And I know that if I saw you right now, I’d still want to kiss you. You’re smart, Akechi-san, but you don’t know what I’m thinking.”

There was a brief pause; Akira wondered if he’d gone too far. Then Akechi said, “What’re you thinking?”

Akira stared up at the ceiling. “I’m thinking it’s late and neither of us can sleep,” he answered slowly. “I’m thinking there are better things for people to do late at night than sleep.”

“Like?” Akechi asked.

“That you’ll have to find out yourself,” Akira murmured. “I hope you can sleep soon.”

“I guess that wasn’t going to work anyway,” Akechi sighed. “Are you falling asleep, Akira?”

“Still wide awake,” he admitted ruefully.

“How tragic, me too. Talk to me until I fall asleep?”

So he did, drifting from topic to topic until his voice went hoarse, her breaths slowing and evening out on the other end.

Akechi swung by the shop a couple days later, clutching the thermos he’d given her that evening. “Thank you for the coffee,” she sang out. “It was quite handy.” 

“I was wondering where that thermos went,” Sojiro said suspiciously.

She smiled at him. “I had to go home early, so Akira gave me some to take home.”

“Did he now,” Sojiro said, eyeing Akira.

Akira tried to look blank and alert. The alert part wasn’t hard—Akechi’s skirt wasn’t the usual beige fare, but it was still short.

“I’ll leave the shop to you,” Sojiro told him. “I’m gonna go see if Futaba needs anything.”

She probably didn’t; Sojiro just didn’t like being around Akechi. Akira nodded, and went inside to check on the coffee for the other customer in the shop. An old lady whose hearing was too bad to figure out who Akechi was without looking up—and she never looked up, preferring to occupy a table for hours and knit. Sojiro hated her.

Sojiro hated the majority of their customers, to be fair. He just took too much pride in his coffee and curry to not sell it to them anyway.

Akechi slid into a seat at the bar. “He really does hate me,” she mused.

“He’s a prickly man,” Akira replied. “Have you been sleeping enough?”

She smiled tiredly at him. “I never do. Can I have some coffee?”

He slid a mug of the usual towards her. She made a low, appreciative sound in the back of her throat at the first sip. Akira clutched the pitcher in his hand a little harder to make sure it didn’t slip out of his grasp. “I don’t know what I would do without this,” she said gratefully. “Hey, do you mind if I use one of the tables today? I’d like to work.”

“All yours,” he said easily. “You could also work in my room, if you want to be alone. I’m stuck down here for another few hours.”

“It’d be lovely,” Akechi said, brightening. “Especially since I might have to make some calls.” Her face fell. “I apologize for coming over just to work.”

He filled another thermos with coffee. “I don’t mind, really.”

Akira _didn’t_ mind, but he also couldn’t get rid of the image of Akechi in his room for the next few hours. In his imagination her stockings were off and her legs were stretched out to serve as a seat for her laptop. He wanted to be up there, bothering her until she spread her thighs and demanded he make it up to her.

Instead he washed the dishes. Some of them up to four times. At least Sojiro couldn’t complain that Akira wasn’t _working._

He fled upstairs the second Sojiro returned. Akechi was sitting primly at his desk when he came in, a highlighter in one hand and a report on the desk. He took several deep breaths in quick succession and forced himself to think about other things. “How’s it coming along?” he asked.

Akechi hummed absently, and then looked up. “Great, actually,” she said. “Have you considered buying a better table lamp? This one isn’t bright enough.”

“It’s plenty bright enough for me,” Akira said, amused.

“No, it’s ruining your eyes,” Akechi sighed, like he was an idiot. “I got through most of these.” She gestured at the stack on the floor. “Still have about half a dozen to sign off on. I don’t know why they’re making me do this, I really don’t, it’s not like I’m being paid to supervise.”

“Then why do you do it?” he asked, closing the door behind him and leaning against it.

“They’re all idiots,” Akechi said. “It humiliates them when I catch their errors.”

There was something incredibly hot about the way she said it, matter-of-fact and not even righteous so much as simply calm, and all the more terrifying for it. He wanted her to sound like that all the time. “Ever think about taking it easy on them?”

“Where would be the fun in that?” Akechi still sounded calm, but she’d put her highlighter down and turned in the chair to look at him, eyes sparkling. “Do you think I should?”

“No,” Akira said fervently. “I think you should crush them.”

“You sound like you want me to crush you,” Akechi purred. He felt a sudden rush of admiration for her, for her bravery. She’d never done this before, but no one would have known that from the way she looked in this moment.

The admiration brought heat with it, kindling low in his stomach. “Not quite what I had in mind,” Akira said evenly.

Akechi blinked, tilting her head. “What did you have in mind, then?”

He stalked forward, tugging her to her feet and against him. “Something like this,” he ground out, bending to press his mouth against her jaw. She whimpered in surprise, leaning in, barely protesting when he nudged her to the bed and crawled over her, covering her smaller body with his own. “Are you—is this alright?”

“Oh, dear,” Akechi whispered, biting her lip. “Are you sure?”

“ _I’m_ sure,” Akira said patiently. He raised a hand to brush her hair out of her eyes. “I’ve done this before, though, and you said you haven’t. We don’t have to.”

Akechi went bright red. “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “I just want…”

He hummed, examining her. She looked lovely, hair a halo around her head and chest heaving. Her thighs were inches from his hands. She didn’t look defensive, or unwilling. “Tell me if you change your mind,” he said. “We’re taking it slow, anyway.”

She shivered. “Okay,” she replied, astonishingly meek.

He made good on that promise, nosing under her jaw. Her skin smelled like vanilla soap and she made a low, lovely sound when he kissed the hollow of her throat, dragging his mouth across her collarbones over the tight fabric of her shirt.

“Take it off,” Akechi demanded. She tugged ineffectually at his shirt, and then gave up. “Akira, c’mon—”

“Patience,” he said, amused, but he sat up to do as she commanded. His cock was hard, tenting his pants—she’d see it if she looked down, but she didn’t. Her eyes were fixed to his face as he shrugged off his jacket first, and then stripped off his shirt too. Her eyes widened. “Like what you see, Akechi-san?”

“I guess all that running around does wonders,” she said distractedly, reaching up to press a gloved palm against his abdomen. He swallowed, knowing she’d feel the movement. “You’re...remarkable.”

“You sound surprised,” he teased, breaths quick and shallow—she hadn’t removed her hand.

“I wasn’t expecting this, that’s all,” Akechi said, a few seconds later. “You can take my clothes off, but don’t expect much.” That sharply self-deprecating tone was back; less like self-pity and more like she took some vicious pleasure in hating herself.

He leaned down to kiss her again, bracing his arms on the bed to hold himself above her. She kissed back lazily at first, ever a quick study, but hooked a leg around his thighs when he deepened the kissing, squirming impatiently under him. He refused to let up, though he was so hard it was making him light-headed. He kissed her until his mouth felt sore and her lips were bruised and swollen, eyes hazy with desperation.

Only then did Akira begin carefully undoing the buttons of her jacket. He should’ve been way more impatient at this point, maybe—he’d wanted this for so long. But being patient was making her mad, and he liked making her mad.

“Get up, I need to take this off of you,” he told her, plucking at her undone jacket.

“You’re so _slow_ ,” she grumbled, sitting up.

Akira kissed her forehead. “Only the best for you, darling.”

She punched him in the shoulder, surprisingly strong, and took her blouse off herself. Her bra was a deep purple and plain, and her breasts were smaller than Akira had vaguely expected. Not that he’d been expecting _much,_ she barely strained her shirts, but they were actually _small._

“I know, will you stop staring,” Akechi snapped. “This isn’t helping me feel better, you know.”

He ignored this, leaning in to kiss her neck again, dragging a hand up her side to cup her breast. They fit easily into his hand, small and warm. “You’re adorable,” he whispered.

“I would like to be _hot,_ but I guess I’ll settle.”

Akira hummed, nuzzling at her chest. “I like you like this, though.”

“You have the weirdest taste,” Akechi sighed. “Are you done sniffing my tits?”

“No,” Akira said. He slipped a hand behind her back, fumbling to unclip her bra. Fucking hooks. He got it done, though, pulled it off and tossed it aside without looking.

God, the sight of her flushed pink and laid bare for him was making him so hard he was dizzy. Under the blouse, her skin was surprisingly marred here and there with scars like she’d been beaten up or shot at—more than once. He traced a scar that ran across the right side of her stomach, and she shivered. “Get on with it.”

“In a minute,” he said absently. “Can I take your gloves off?”

She glared at him. “Not a word,” she commanded, and then tugged them off briskly. The sight of her fingers made Akira’s chest ache; they were oddly twisted, like they’d been broken in multiple places and hadn’t quite healed right. “Happy now?”

He kissed her forehead, a wordless apology, and pulled off her skirt and stockings next. Her thighs were as perfectly soft and squishy as he remembered, though she looked away in embarrassment while he stared, like she didn’t want to know what he was thinking. Like she was ashamed of this, somehow.

“Akechi,” Akira said quietly. “Goro. Hey. Look here.”

She rolled her eyes aggressively and glared at him. “What.”

“You’re lovely,” he said sincerely.

“If you’re going to make fun of me I’m leaving,” Akechi snapped, sounding genuinely furious.

“Trust me for _once,_ ” Akira snapped back. “I think you’re lovely. I wouldn’t want to fuck you if I didn’t think that.”

“There’s not a lot of fucking yet, so forgive me if I don’t believe that—” he grabbed her hand and guided it to his crotch, viciously satisfied by the way the words died midway through.

“You did that,” he informed her.

“I didn’t do anything,” Akechi said, small and pained. “Let go of my hand.”

He let go of her hand quickly, and waited while she argued with herself in her brain. She was terrifyingly smart and terrifyingly sharp. He could’ve waited her out entirely, but he didn’t quite trust her not to come to a conclusion that wouldn’t fuck her over. And probably his poor dick, too. He leaned in again, kissing her collarbones. That was safe.

She relaxed slowly. “I really didn’t do anything,” she mumbled, sinking a hand in his hair and scratching lightly.

It felt so good that Akira nearly purred. He dragged his focus back to her, though. “You don’t have to _do_ anything,” he growled, frustrated. “I’ve wanted this since you spilled that fucking coffee on yourself and had to take your stupid stockings off.”

Akechi snorted. “You can’t possibly be into _that_ part of me,” she said scathingly.

“Why not?” Akira argued, trailing kisses down her torso, pausing only to swirl his tongue over her nipples. She squirmed and snarled wordlessly at him. “I can be into any part of you I damn well please, and—” he grabbed at her thighs, warm and soft and scarred across the back where the top of her skirt probably hid it. “—I’m picking this.”

“You’re _weird,_ ” Akechi whined, and then slumped as though defeated. “Whatever you want.”

She was pouting. He grinned warmly at her and sank down again. He’d been dreaming about this for weeks; he wanted it so badly now and he was _done_ arguing with Akechi about whether it was good enough for him to have.

It was immensely gratifying to find Akechi’s panties soaked through when he dragged them off of her. “Quiet, now,” he warned her.

“Oh what?” she demanded.

“I’ll gag you,” he said sweetly, holding her panties up.

“You—”

“Nuh _-uh_.”

Akechi pouted again. Akira tossed the panties within arm’s reach and leaned down, kissing the tops of her thighs. He was still hard and it almost didn’t matter anymore; the prospect of making Akechi come undone for him took priority.

She made a soft, weak sound when he licked tentatively into her cunt. “ _Akira_.”

“I know,” he said reassuringly. He had no idea what she wanted. “Just let me…”

He didn’t elaborate after that, placing his hands gently on her thighs to keep them apart. She smelled clean and thick between her legs; he could’ve breathed it in forever. He dove in again, careless of the slick staining his mouth and chin. Most people didn’t like this taste—Akira didn’t care. He’d take anything that made Akechi whimper and twist under his hands like she didn’t know whether to push him away or drag him closer.

Akira had expected Akechi to get louder during sex—if anything, though, she got quieter, reduced to splintering moans and cut-off whimpers. He slid his finger into the wet heat of her cunt, spreading her so he could lick further in.

“Akira,” she whispered, low and broken. “Please, I can’t take it—”

“You’re almost there,” he promised roughly. “Just a little longer, sweetheart.”

She whined as he rubbed at her clit with his thumb, sliding his finger in a little more even as he kept eating her out. It only took a few seconds for her to spill in his mouth, hot and wet. He grinned, ridiculously pleased with himself, and looked up at her.

Akechi looked _wrecked_ , strands of hair sticking to her face with sweat, the flush on her cheeks sinking down her body all the way to her chest. Her skin was faintly shiny with sweat.

“Alright?” he asked, knowing the answer.

“You’re going to kill me,” Akechi said fervently. “Come up here, you fool.”

He let her haul him up, kissing her deep and filthy. She’d taste herself on his tongue, and somehow that just made it better. She still squirmed when he cupped her breast, but at least she didn’t bitch him out again. He’d take that as a win.

“Aren’t you planning on coming?” Akechi asked him a long moment later.

Akira blinked down at her, dazed. He’d been so focused on getting her off he’d forgotten entirely about himself. “I’ll keep.”

She pushed his shoulder. “Tell me what to do,” she commanded.

“Uh,” he started intelligently. “Okay.”

Akechi stared expectantly up at him. Akira couldn’t think of anything.

“You’re useless,” she sighed. “I’m going to suck you off.”

She said it like she’d _done it before._ He was dead sure she hadn’t—where would she have? But she wiggled out from under him and shoved at him until he lay down, pulling his zipper down to free his cock. “Um, have you done this before?” Akira asked.

Akechi shrugged. “How hard can it be?”

That wasn’t a yes or no, but she didn’t give him time to parse that before pumping his cock experimentally. His brain fled the premises, every sense caught up in how Akechi was small and confident between his legs, eyes bright and determined as she closed her bruised and swollen mouth around the tip of his cock.

Akira closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the wet heat of her mouth on his aching dick. And then he forced himself to open his eyes again, to keep an eye on her to make sure she was okay.

She’d definitely done this before, he decided, though he couldn’t for the life of him imagine _where._ He reached down to slide a hand into her damp hair, gripping gently to make her take it slow. He’d waited too much to expect to last any longer, but he could make sure he didn’t catch her by surprise.

Her mouth was _incredible,_ though. She made these gorgeous little sounds in the back of her throat, needy and hoarse, but she never let up on sucking, never gave him time to gather his thoughts.

Akira tried to push her off when his control began to fray—he’d held back from fucking into her throat until now, but he couldn’t help the involuntary jerks of his hips. “That’s enough,” he tried to say, but she glared up at him and _swallowed_ around his cock. A sweet white roar engulfed his mind, pleasure soaring through him. He didn’t know how long he took to come back down, but Akechi was sprawled next to him and eyeing him smugly when he blinked back to himself.

“What was that about keeping?” she asked archly.

“You gotta warn a guy before pulling tricks like that,” he mumbled.

“You’re a disaster,” she said, like he didn’t know that already. “I should be getting home.”

He stared at her, suddenly a lot less post-orgasmically sappy. Akechi had a way of kneecapping that. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” she demanded. “It’s getting late.”

“Don’t care,” Akira said. “You’re staying the night.”

“I am not—”

He rolled over on top of her. She shrieked and tried to push him off. “You are.”

“You’re _stinky_ ,” she wailed.

“We can shower,” Akira said. “ _Here_. Because you’re staying.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” Akechi said sulkily. “I guess one night can’t hurt.”

He rolled off her again, satisfied he’d done what he could, and immediately wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close so she couldn’t try to get away.

Akechi relaxed in increments. He stroked her stomach slowly, idly, interested in the shape of her ribs and the soft little swell of her stomach. She must’ve been feeling mellow, because she allowed him to touch her without complaining. Too much, anyway.

“I thought we were showering,” she said, a few minutes later.

Akira threw a leg over hers and yawned. “Shower later. Nap first.”

“Why do I put up with you,” Akechi sighed, snuggling back against him.

Akira smiled into her hair and fell asleep.

He woke up hours later feeling sticky and gross—maybe he should’ve let Akechi insist on the shower. He was hard again and she was still asleep against him, so maybe it was worth it to have tired her enough to sleep.

But god, he was turned on and the backs of her thighs were deliciously soft against his stiff cock. He rubbed experimentally against her, pausing when she sighed and shifted back.

“Akira?” she mumbled. “Wha’s time?”

“Probably around ten,” Akira replied, voice hoarse with thirst. “Alright?”

Akechi hummed. “What’re you doing?”

“What do you think?” Akira asked, voice low. He turned his head to skim his lips over her shoulder. She shuddered, spreading her thighs to allow him easier access.

She was already spooned up against him, making it easy to use one hand to play gently with her nipples. They were awfully sensitive, if the way she was reacting was anything to go by—but they weren’t the focus of his attention right now. He slipped his other hand between her legs as he rutted against her, sliding the tips of his fingers into her cunt. She was wet already, moaned when he spread her folds to fuck her gently with his fingers. “Faster,” she begged, and he complied, hauling himself up slightly for leverage to press between her thighs as he continued to draw her closer to the edge.

Akira had imagined this—he wasn’t prepared for the reality of it, her body fragile and small under him even though he knew full well she could take him in a fight and give him a run for his money—her incredible fucking thighs, the way she cried out hoarsely when she came on his fingers and tightened her grip on his cock so hard he groaned, coming right after her and dirtying her even more.

He kissed her scapula in the aftermath, dragged the flat of his tongue against one of the scars on her back. “You’re annoying,” Akechi sniped. “I want a shower. Where’s the bathroom?”

“Just down the hall,” he answered, giving up on sucking a hickey into her skin and rolling off her.

She slid out of bed and padded away, leaving him to his smugness.

Eventually he got out of bed too, found a towel to wipe himself clean with, and put on some pyjamas so he could go close up the shop. And make them dinner, since the last thing Akechi had eaten had been a mug of coffee, and _she_ might’ve considered that a balanced meal but he wasn’t going to enable it more than he already did.

Akira ended up finding bread in the fridge, which meant they didn’t have to eat curry at eleven pm. He rustled up a couple of sandwiches and was considering hot chocolate when Akechi stumbled through the door, hair done up in a messy bun that still made his throat go dry.

Even worse, she’d found one of his shirts and was wearing it buttoned loosely, hanging off her smaller frame. She wasn’t wearing pants underneath. If he hadn’t come twice today already he’d have tried to fuck her over the counter. He wasn’t going to discount the possibility even now.

“What’s with the look,” Akechi said grumpily. “My clothes need laundering. Sojiro-san isn’t here, is he?”

Akira didn’t reply. He was still staring.

“I didn’t know sex would make you so useless,” Akechi snapped.

“I made sandwiches,” Akira protested, dragging himself out of his stupor.

“Oh, great, I’m _starving,_ ” Akechi said sarcastically. 

Akira put the plate on the counter in front of Akechi’s usual seat. She glared at him before hopping up, grabbing the sandwich and scarfing it down in brisk, un-ladylike bites. “Will you _stop_ giving me that _look,_ ” she demanded.

“No,” Akira said, with the most shit-eating leer he could muster. “You’re hot.”

Akechi rolled her eyes and shook her head, clearly giving up on him. Akira ate his own sandwich standing up and finally came to a decision about the hot chocolate. He made a couple mugs’ worth, sliding one to Akechi. “Careful with that,” he warned. “It’s pretty hot.”

“It would be pretty embarrassing if you had to take me to the ER,” Akechi noted.

Akira privately thought Akechi could stand to use the ER a little more—but he didn’t bring up her scars, and she didn’t bring up his scars either. There was too much between them for that conversation to happen with any ease. This was nothing more than a loophole he’d found for a brief time, an almost comfortable space he could share with her in the empty shop. Knowing she was here and not off being paraded around in front of cameras or doing work that could get her killed, knowing she was _safe,_ filled some deep ache within Akira he hadn’t known he was carrying. He wanted this forever. 

Akechi sipped at the hot chocolate and smiled at him like she knew what he was thinking.

**Author's Note:**

> please comment if you liked this!! even small ones keep me going. i have an nsfw twitter @slutkechi - feel free to follow if you're over 18. you can also [retweet this fic](https://twitter.com/faultwire/status/1317085678954373122?s=20).


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